


A Father is Reflected by his Sons

by Katricia



Series: blood for the blood god [1]
Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, but it's been awhile, has it been two weeks?, i don't know time is a construct, listen i've spent the last like two weeks thinking of nothing but this au, phil is the blood god, please give it love, sbi, the rest of the sbi are his acolytes? disciples?, weird family unit vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katricia/pseuds/Katricia
Summary: Phil is the blood god. He's still raising his three sons to the best of his abilities.Too bad he's not a better father.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: blood for the blood god [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119995
Comments: 30
Kudos: 291





	A Father is Reflected by his Sons

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about making this chapter by chapter, but I honestly just wanted to be done, so I'm tossing it all in here, there are lines to indicate POV shifts, have fun.  
> This was inspired by this amazing art on tumblr! https://nkhaotic.tumblr.com/post/639188911913107456/hey-yall-this-was-the-biggest-project-i-have  
> Seriously NK is very cool, go follow them.

_**INTRODUCTION** _

Phil is proud of all his sons.

Techno was his first (it is hard to say who came first, him or Techno. Did Techno call him into being, or did he attract Techno into his service?), and while he doesn't have favorites, Techno is the most dedicated to his service. Techno is the one who listens to the voices Phil has blessed him with, who's war cry is "blood for the blood god". Phil doesn't have favorites, but if he did, Techno would be it.

Wilbur was his second, and was older when Phil found him. He was more difficult to mold, to push into the man he is now, but Phil is proud of who he's become. He's been the whisper in his ear, of course, the guiding hand, and no blood ever tasted as sweet as his son's willing sacrifice when it ended. Of course he'll bring him back to life: Wilbur isn't close to done with the bloodshed that is still to come. There are so many horrors that can still be wreaked upon this server before they leave.

Tommy is his last, and oh, the plans he has for this child. The places he will go, when he finds that his friends have abandoned him, that he has nowhere else to turn but Phil. And Phil will welcome him back with open arms, will soothe his hurts and turn him to face the world with a sword and a hunger that will be sated by only one thing.

_ Blood for the blood god.  _

* * *

Techno is given to the blood god as a child. He is a sacrifice, a way to keep the bastion safe; one child for many. (They didn't realize the blood god would take them all anyways, what does he care for deals, for bargains? They all belong to him in the end.) He watches the decimation of his people, the way the man (the god, the entity, the monster) laughs as he slaughters them, and he learns. The strong survive. The weak are fit for nothing but this; a sacrifice for the strongest.

The man crouches on his heels before him, wings red with blood, face sprayed with it and eyes red. His grin never fades as he speaks with a voice that is lighter than it should be. 

"Well, little one. It seems you belong to me now. What do you think of that?" He asks. With the way he tilts his head, he looks like the pictures Techno has seen of birds of prey, the way they constantly seem to be sizing you up for their next meal. He squares his shoulders though, tries to look confident, even if he barely comes up to the man's shoulder while he's crouching.

"I'm going to take your place one day." He decides, sure of himself. If he's strong enough, he will be the strongest, and will become what this man is. The man laughs, the sound of it ringing across the Nether as he tossed his head back with it. His eyes are blue when he looks back at Techno, and he uses a blood-soaked finger to smear the sticky liquid across his forehead.

"May my blessing aid you in your quest, little one. Serve me and grow strong, and one day you may take my place indeed." His eyes flash red before going back to blue, and Techno feels a flash of heat wash over him, something settling in the back of his mind. He won't know what's been done until later, that he can hear the blood god in his head now, that his victims dedicated to the man will be there too, all chanting the same thing.

_Blood for the blood god_. 

For now, he takes the man's hand, follows him away from the bodies of what was once his family, and into a new life.

* * *

Wilbur is 13 the first time he kills a man. Thinking back, he doesn't know now why he did it. He remembers the rage, the red that filled his vision and the slide of the sword through the man's ribs, the satisfaction that came with his last rattled breath. The killing was easy. What came after was harder. 

The blood god is not what he expected, when he hears the stories, the warnings to not kill, to not let rage overtake you, lest the blood god find you. There are whispers, myths of towns being decimated in a night (he thinks they're myths, they're true, they're all true), of countries being devoured by a creature who thinks only of blood and chaos. The blood god shouldn't be a man with blue eyes and golden wings, a green and white hat jammed over hair that looks like it hasn't been cut in too long. He shouldn't be able to say the words Wilbur has been longing to hear.

_ Everything will be fine. _

_ I'll fix it. _

_ I want you with me. _

He doesn't know why the blood god would want him, but he already has another teenager in his wake, a tall piglin with a hand on his sword and a sour expression, like he doesn't approve of what's happening. Still, though, Wilbur stands a little straighter, looks the god in the eye (were his eyes red before? It has to be a trick of the light) and gives the only answer there is to give.

"I'll follow you."

* * *

They find Tommy in an alleyway. The town is rough, dirty, the kind of place where Techno can find a fight, where Wilbur can whisper in an ear and cause a revolution doomed to fail in a bloody massacre, where Phil can sit back and watch his sons (his disciples, his acolytes, his vassals), red eyes gleaming in the darkness. Having them means he doesn't get to do his own dirty work as much anymore, but it's worth it, to watch them weave through the room, watch the way chaos crops up in their footprints.

He takes a sip of his drink, watches them walk outside and head in opposite directions, wonders if the town will be standing when they finish.

The thought of it makes him grin.

Wilbur returns first, coat flaring out behind him and a smile on his face. He sits across from Phil, long legs stretched under the table. It's only been two years, but he's already taller than Phil, and shows no signs of stopping. 

"This place was already so close. It'll blow by tomorrow morning." He says, satisfied, and Phil grins at him. He could already feel the cracks, the rumbles of discontent and anger.

"Good job," he praises, watches the way Wilbur's face lights up at the words. Children are so  _ easy _ to push and mold into what you want. Wilbur will do anything for a few words of praise, for a look of pride. A single disappointed look is enough to crush him, something that he'd had to get used to. Techno was never like that; he rarely cared if anyone was happy with what he did, not once he decided to do it.

As if thoughts of him have summoned him, the piglin is next to stride through the door, face and clothes smeared with dirt and blood. He has a bundle of what looked like rags in his arms that he dumps on Phil's lap when he gets closer.

"Another one for your entourage." He mutters before walking to the bar. The bundle moves, and then there's wide blue eyes staring up at him. Phil blinks at the child wrapped in a ragged blanket. The child blinks back. He's maybe 7 (he's never been good at guessing human ages, they're all so confusing), and his cheeks are sunken in, making his eyes look even bigger, with his face near emaciation.

"Well, hello there. Would you like something to eat?" 

* * *

Phil is watching the two older boys spar when his youngest comes to stand next to him, a scowl fixed on his face. It's not uncommon for the nine year old to be upset, he's more emotional than the other two tended to be. The silence that is unusual, though, usually Tommy has no qualms about loudly complaining about anything that moderately inconveniences him, complete with enough swearing to make a sailor blush. 

"What's wrong?" He finally asks, after enough silence that it's uncomfortable. Tommy scowls harder, the expression twisting his face, and Phil has to hide a smile. Someday, the kid will be someone to be feared, he'll make sure of it. For now, he's just a kid trying to be tough, and it makes for an amusing picture most days.

"They don't have time for me. They told me to go away and play by myself, but I'm old enough to spar! You said I was!" He ends with a muttered  _ bitches _ and Phil considers him for a moment. This could be a learning experience, a way to push him towards the role he's been considering since he first saw the boy. In Techno and Wilbur, he has a fighter and a leader. Tommy, on the other hand...Tommy is going to be the inciting incident. Tommy will tear people apart, and once again, he hides a smile as he places a hand on Tommy's shoulder.

"Well, they are focused on each other. If you can get them to stop that, maybe one of them will focus on you instead," he keeps his words sympathetic, as though he's truly trying to help, as though he doesn't know exactly how this will effect his boys. They are strong together. But apart? Apart they will wreak even more havoc. 

Tommy's scowl fades as he considers his brothers. They've stopped fighting, are now huddled together, inspecting one of their swords, unaware of the threat behind them.

Really, Phil taught them better than that.

It only takes a few moments after Tommy squares his shoulders and bounds forward before Techno is storming away, hand on the hilt of his sword and thunder in his expression, while Wilbur is already showing Tommy the proper stance, correcting the way he holds the sword.

Phil grins as he watches. The cracks are already beginning to show.

* * *

The stage has been set. Phil is proud of his sons. Wilbur has done more than whisper in ears, he's led the war and every drop of blood has gone to his father. Techno has fought, switching sides as it pleases him, as one side grows weaker, pushing the conflict to last longer.

And Tommy...Tommy has made  _ friends _ . He's made friends and pushed them against each other, ranted about music discs (as though those are important, they're only convenient), and gone against the leaders of this world. 

Phil doesn't arrive until it's time, until the country is balancing on the brink of destruction. He can smell the explosives, the tang of gunpowder, and he knows what's connected to the button Wilbur is hovering over. 

There are those who would mistake the brightness in Wilbur's eyes, the tilt of his smile, for insanity. They would be wrong. It's not insanity, it's fervor. It's belief. It's dedication.

"Blood for the blood god," Wilbur whispers as he presses the button, as the sword slices between his ribs, as Techno's voice rings out, a fight between brothers playing out on the stage above. 

He cradles his son in his arms as his blood soaks the earth beneath them. He should mourn, he supposes, might be guilty if he was human. But he's not, so he only laughs, the taste of blood in the back of his throat. He's a god, he'll bring Wilbur back, and together they will raze this country to the ground, merely for the sin of being there, of inconveniencing them.

For now, he has acting to do, and he shakes off the hilarity, straps Wilbur's sword to his side, and enters the fray. He doesn't let his eyes shine red, doesn't call out encouragement to Techno as his oldest rampages through the remains of the festival. He's gentle as he helps rebuild, as he gives advice and plays the part. 

All the while, he thinks only of one thing

_ Blood for the blood god. _

* * *

Tommy is exiled. He's cast out, away from his friends, from the country he helped to build, the country he watched his family tear down around him. He is exiled, and he isn't sure if he deserves it or not.

He never got a choice about what he would become, not like Wilbur and Techno. There was no offer received and accepted, there was only arms lifting him from the gutter, setting him on his feet. There were hands that ruffled his hair and pushed him towards the fight, words whispered in his ear, that told him he needed more, that he was made to drive others apart. His brothers are different, he knows that. They chose this life (if it can be called a choice, the choice between life and death, following or being cut down), and they don't have regrets. They don't have  _ friends _ .

He does. Or he did. The lines are more than blurred, they've become zig zags that he has no hope of translating, no hope of finding where he went wrong. He thinks Tubbo was his friend, at least. Nikki, maybe. Fundy was, and he thought (he hoped, he dreamed) that Wilbur was his friend, his brother. More than just a disciple of a bloodthirsty god (a god, his father, he loves him, he hates him), more than what he'd been made into.

He was wrong, of course. That's no surprise at this point.

Dream, Dream is his friend. Dream is teaching him how to be human. He's a monster right now, he knows that, but Dream says he knows how to fix it: how to make him better (he's heard that before, but he still hopes that this time it isn't a lie, this time he will be better in the end), but it's going to be hard work. Monsters don't deserve tools or armor, Dream tells him. Monsters need to learn to be better before they can act like humans, and so Tommy gives all his stuff away, and he endures a beating for not doing it fast enough, and he thinks of his friends.

They're rebuilding, Dream tells him. They're rebuilding, moving on without him, and he  _ longs _ to be there. He wants to sit with Tubbo and listen to music (they weren't just discs, they were never just discs), he wants to laugh, and make stupid jokes, and feel like maybe he isn't what his father raised him to be.

He aches with loneliness (he hasn't been lonely since he was seven and starving in an alley, since the hulking form of a piglin picked him up and dropped him in the lap of a god), and so he throws a party. He makes a beach, collects food from wherever he can find it, painstakingly makes invitations for Ghostbur to deliver (he likes Ghostbur better than Wilbur, but he can't say that, not without being more of a monster), and he waits. 

He waits, and he thinks, and the anger wells up. No one is coming. No one is coming because they don't care. And if they don't care, what's the point? Why should he try?

Dream comes again, and it's the last straw when he blows up his shelter, his last few resources that he'd managed to hoard. Tommy doesn't care anymore. He doesn't care about Dream, about Tubbo, about L'Manberg. They don't care about him, after all, so there's no point. 

He walks away, and this time, he doesn't turn back when the sun sets. He has nothing, but he knows where he's going. He always knows where his brothers are, where Phil is. It's part of the magic that binds them all together, the blood that they've all spilled, smeared between them and staining them.

He walks, and walks, and walks, and he tries not to think until he's staring at Techno's house. It looks warm from where he's shivering. It looks warm and inviting, even if he knows better. There's no welcome waiting for him inside; Techno doesn't care about him. There's a chance he'll be thrown out again, told to get stronger, to make his own way, and so he creeps forward, digs his way into the basement and steals what he needs. It's warm, at least, and Dream isn't here. He can rely on himself, and that's what matters.

* * *

Ghostbur remembers. Everyone thinks he doesn't, but he does. He remembers how it was, before L'Manberg, before the sword that slipped between his ribs and through his heart. He'd been...not happy, exactly, but he'd had a family. Tommy, and Techno, and even Phil, when he wasn't distracted or pushing them to fight each other. There had been bad moments, but there had been good, too.

Mornings spent reading with Techno before anyone else got up, afternoons teaching Tommy how to fight, Phil teaching them how to cook, how to build, how to farm. Teasing Techno for how intensely he took everything, how he threw himself into learning like it was the last thing he might do. 

The rush of watching what his words could do, the way he could bring a nation to its knees…

He doesn't know if he wants to be alive again. He knows Phil does. He knows Phil has plans, plans to raze the server to the ground. He doesn't know why, except maybe that's just who he is. Phil can't help it, it's his nature. But Ghostbur doesn't know if he wants to follow in those footsteps.

He remembers now, remembers that he didn't set out to become this. He chose to follow Phil, he didn't choose to become him. He didn't mean to adopt Phil's agenda as his own, but when he was alive, he was caught in the god's wake, pulled by the current until there was nothing to do but whatever he was supposed to do.

Now, he remembers, and he wonders. 

Does he really want to be this?

Does he really want to do this?

* * *

Techno hauls his brother out of his basement by the scruff of his neck like a disobedient puppy. Tommy is kicking and cursing the whole way, doing nothing to take away from that image, and even once Techno sets him on his feet in front of him, he doesn't stop yelling, just draws himself up as though he's trying to act bigger, keeps yelling despite the caution that lurks in his eyes. Techno thinks they used to be brighter, a blue reminiscent of a dying star, not the faded blue of a winter morning. 

He used to be better kept too, not dressed in clothes covered in holes and ash, shoes worn through and dirt streaked across him. Something has happened to him. Something has happened, something that makes him flinch minutely when Techno moves, makes him quiet for just a moment before he gets even louder, as though to cover up the silence. 

Techno tucks away the rage that comes at the idea of anyone touching his brother, touching what is  _ his _ , no matter if he's hurt him in the past. That was playacting, a script they were both following. He tucks it away to be brought out later, starts up the ladder to the main area of the house, trusting Tommy will follow. He does, of course he does (Techno remembers him following the same way when he was small, running after him and Wilbur and shouting for attention), never ceasing in his yelling. Techno isn't paying attention, he thinks Tommy is yelling at him again for killing Tubbo. As though that was something he could have avoided without murdering everyone there and ending the war with a show of force. That would have made things worse in the long run.

He roots through a chest, pulls out a set of clothes made from thick wool and tosses them at his brother. Once again, Tommy quiets, wide eyes looking at him in a way that reminds Techno of when he'd found him in that alleyway. 

"You look like crap," Techno says shortly. "Go clean yourself up, I'll make something to eat." Tommy nods, scurries away, obedient in a way that Tommy has never been, and once again that rage raises its head. He pushes it down again, lets out a slow breath, and focuses on cooking a meal that will satisfy a growing boy.

If he's lucky, he can actually talk to Tommy. He can sway him to his side, he can use him. Tommy shouldn't have any ties to Manberg, not anymore. They cast him out, why should he care?

"Did you find Tommy?" Ghostbur's voice makes him jump, nearly cutting himself with a knife and he huffs, turning to face the ghost of his brother.

"I've told you, don't sneak up on me. It's rude." He growls, brandishing the knife at his brother's unconcerned face. Ghostbur just hums, floats to look at the collected ingredients.

"Are you going to help him?" He asks, voice echoing, as though he's speaking in a tunnel. Techno shrugs, goes back to the vegetables.

"He'll be useful," he answers, instead of actually answering the question. Careful words, short sentences. Everyone thinks he's dumb, they don't know much he thinks through what he says, tailors it to whoever he's speaking to.

"Techno. He's your brother." Somehow Ghostbur sounds more present, more like Wilbur than before, and Techno hunches his shoulders, doesn't look at him.

"I know. Just...be ready when I call you." The words are softer than he intends, and Ghostbur doesn't respond, other than a rush of cold air that means he's left. 

Tommy's there in the next moment, filling the silence with words that never seem to stop, drawing from an infinite well that Techno is almost jealous of. It must be easier, to be able to say what you're thinking, to not think through every word until you just decide not to speak, nervous of repercussions for saying the wrong thing, using the wrong tone. 

It sounds nice, but it's not him, so he eats his dinner, listens to his little brother, and he plans.

* * *

It's two days later when he comes home from trading to see Phil coming out the front door, hand clamped around Tommy's arm as he pulls him out of the house. The god doesn't look angry, he's grinning, and it sends a cold spike down Techno's spine. Phil has always been most dangerous when he's smiling. It means he's less present, more likely to follow his nature, rather than whatever parts of himself aren't screaming for blood and destruction. 

Techno walks a little faster, breaks into a run when Phil pushes Tommy into the snow. He's saying something, the smile still twisting his face, and Techno doesn't bother to listen, doesn't bother with any finesse, just barrels into Phil with all the grace of a charging bull. They both go flying into the snow, landing with Techno on top, and he holds on, pinning Phil's wings beneath them both and ignoring the way his eyes have gone red and feral, the way Tommy is screaming behind him.

"Wilbur! Wilbur get here!" He yells, struggling to keep Phil pinned. The man is a god, but he's shared his power with the three of them. It's not much, but it's enough to keep him down, and Techno latches onto the rage he's stored away, the anger that's always lurking in the back of his mind. He doesn't see red, instead his vision gets sharper, everything slows down, until he's watching Phil's arm come up, dagger in his hand arching towards him, and he can't move, not while keeping him pinned, can't even raise an arm, so he braces for impact, waits for it to land. 

It never does, there's a shout, and then Tommy is hanging off Phil's arm, practically sitting on him, and Wilbur is behind him, cold hand braced on his shoulder as he yells in his ear.

"This wasn't the plan, was it?" Wilbur asks, and it takes effort to hear him over the screech of the voices in his head. Techno can feel his teeth grinding as he pulls the dagger out of Phil's hand, not bothering to draw his own.

"Just hold on," he says, dimly aware that Tommy is still there, still holding onto Phil's arm, and that wasn't part of the plan, they were doing this to save Tommy, to give him a normal life, but there's no going back now. 

He raises the dagger (Phil has stopped struggling, is staring at him with wide eyes, a grin on his face, and Techno thinks this is the final sacrifice), a heartbeat of pause (this is his father, his friend, his god, how could he do this, how could he do this, how could he do this), and the dagger slices between Phil's ribs, into his heart.

There's a moment of silence. Nothing moves, no one even breathes, and then.

_ Noise. _

Noise and power, rushing through him, rushing through the other two. He grabs at it, pulls it into himself, compacts it into something workable, something that can live between his ribs. It's too much for one person, he knows, he lets some slide into Wilbur, feels the hand on his shoulder grow more solid, less cold by the second. Tommy is screaming again, but he thinks he might be too. There's laughter, Wilbur, he thinks. Or maybe Phil, his last moments the final hilarity in his life.

It keeps going, the power burning as it sinks into his skin, and he clenches his teeth until he thinks they might break, and it's not until darkness is dancing on the edge of his vision that it begins to fade. It's over. 

He relaxes his grip on the dagger, only for it to drop on the ground, for him to discover there's nothing but snow beneath him. It makes sense that there would be no body, but there's still pain at the thought. 

He won't be visiting Phil's grave. 

He twists, meets Wilbur's eyes where he stands behind them. His brother is solid again, eyes bright and smile cheerful as he laughs, catches snowflakes on his fingers. He can feel the lines of power that connect them now, the touch of Wilbur's thoughts on his own mind, joy and pain thrumming through the connection in equal amounts. 

There's another though, and he looks at Tommy next, at his little brother's ashen face, at the way he's staring at his hands and how panic is the only thing Techno can feel from him. Blue eyes stare at him, wide and bright with power.

"What are we?" He whispers, and now Techno laughs, pushing himself to his feet and offering Tommy his hand.

"Whatever we want to be."

* * *

  
  
  


There are stories, whispers, myths, legends about 3 gods.

A leader who bends nations, who uplifts the downtrodden, who pushes for peace. 

A warrior who fights against the tyrannical, who sets himself against dictators and those who abuse their power.

An inspiration, who pushes people to fight for what they believe in, who uplifts their spirits and demands peace. 

Gods, the whispers call them, kings, legends. 

_ Brothers  _ is what they call themselves, if they're ever asked. Just brothers.


End file.
